


I Welcome My Sentence

by b0o



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt, Deus Ex Machina, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0o/pseuds/b0o
Summary: Either they both fall and die because the root saving them snaps under the duress, or the proverbial dead weight be dropped and the mighty Witcher use his newly freed hand to climb up the rock.Jaskier makes a choice, one that Geralt refuses to entertain.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 72
Kudos: 1096





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How are these two so hard to write for?! Well here goes nothing. Have some grunting and growling Geralt, oh and some self sacrificing Jaskier.

Jaskier rather enjoyed being alive and despite what a certain Witcher would say, he was in no inclination to change his status to deceased.

Yet as he clung on to Geralt’s arm with both hands, nails dug into the man’s skin in a desperate attempt for more stability, he began coming to grips with the situation. The panic that had consumed him from the moment they fell was quietly brushed away and replaced with resignation.

Looking down made his head spin at the sheer emptiness beneath him that ended with sharp rocks miles below his dangling feet. Up was hardly a better direction, jagged rock going on seemingly forever above them with the only thing marrying its simplicity a root that stuck out of the rock stubbornly.

That stubborn root just happened to be the thing keeping both Geralt and Jaskier alive after the dying monster had used the last of its life to push the pair over the edge with one final swing. As his legs dangled, the options he had floated through his mind.

More specifically the only two options there were, either they both fall and die because the root saving them snaps under the duress. Or the proverbial dead weight be dropped and the mighty Witcher use his newly freed hand to climb up the rock.

Really between the two options only one was viable but Jaskier knew that Geralt, for all his grumbling and glares for the bard, would rather shave his head than drop Jaskier purposefully. Not that Jaskier wanted to freefall and smash against the rocks mind you, but the only fate worse than that would be having Geralt falling with him.

Geralt was, without question or doubt, far more important in almost every way than Jaskier. Even without considering the whole destiny thing, if someone where to compare the jobs of a bard and a monster slayer one would clearly win. Yes, there was no doubt for Jaskier about which option was the best.

Mind made up and heart somewhere deep in his stomach, now the execution was to be dealt with. With a hitched sigh Jaskier fought down every instinct of self-preservation and let go of the arm.

He let gravity drag his left hand down to his side and his right hand let go of the arm it was clutching, fear spiking sharply as his body swayed after losing that small stability. Immediately the grip around his wrist tightened and Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, and mighty White Wolf stared down at him with what could only be described as a crazed look.

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare!” Silver hair spun white with the sun shining through it, and golden eyes seemed alight with perceived desperation. As pitiful and sappy as it might sound, Jaskier could die happy if Geralt’s was the last face he saw.

Something must had shown on his own face because the grip on his wrist tightened and a scowl reaffirmed itself on Geralt, “hold on.”

Jaskier had had that type of growl directed to him only a few times before, it was a tone that demanded obedience and there was always an order attached to it. The last time Geralt had growled at him that way, it had been ordering him to get down moments before a Drowner tried to attack the bard. Somehow, disobeying the order was harder than letting go had been.

Geralt was glaring down at him and if it wasn’t for the way his jaw was tensed or the way the man’s chest was practically heaving despite the lack of activity, Jaskier would think it was anger in those eyes.

Instead, after all the years Jaskier has spent with the Witcher he had come to recognize the more subtle signs Geralt used to show of worry. Worry that was becoming more apparent the longer Jaskier let himself dangle, a low growl sounded and Geralt was looking back up.

Clearly looking for a new solution to their situation, calculating if he could throw the bard to the top of the cliff without him just hitting the side harshly and just falling once more.

Words needed to be said, Jaskier knew he needed to say something to the man he loved to convince him to do the smart thing. Swallowing down his own fear Jaskier looked below and tried not to vomit when the world tilted, fuck that really was a long way down.

“Don’t look down and for fucks sake, hold onto me.”

Jaskier obliged on one front and shut his eyes tightly, he took a shaky breath in and let it out in a quick huff.

“Well, at least it won’t hurt. Just a bit of falling and then-“

“Stop. Jaskier, just-stop.”

At any other time the defeated tone would have stunned Jaskier into silence, but his own growing desperation was drowning everything out. Once again, an odd hollowness covered the panic and Jaskier could speak again.

“Geralt, please listen to me. You have to let go, there’s no reason for both of us to die here and lets be honest you’re more-“

The grip on his wrist was sure to be cutting off circulation at this point Jaskier noted numbly, but what did that really matter if he was just going to fall to his death anyway?

The sun wasn’t directly in his eyes when he looked up again and Jaskier found himself wishing it was in order to spare him the sight. Geralt looked more pained than Jaskier had ever seen him look before; his chin touching his chest, eyes closed, and mouth pulled into a thin-lipped grimace.

“Geralt.”

The man took in a deep breath and shook his head, “no.”

Cold logic hadn’t worked before, but maybe going at it from a different angle would work better.

“Destiny has plans for you and I’ve obviously played my part in it, something that am thankful I was able to do. Because even though this is where my story ends, I’m so fucking happy that I was able to meet you, to really get to know you, and to love you more than I thought I was capable of.”

The confession hadn’t meant to slip out, a great deal of what he just said wasn’t planned, but that was Jaskier in a nutshell. Unable to keep his mouth shut in the best of times and fully capable of shoving his entire foot into it at any time.

Geralt had remained suspiciously silent during Jaskier’s speech but his grip had not faltered in the slightest. All Jaskier could hear was the quick pounding of his heart in his ears, it was deafening, and he wondered if Geralt could hear just how bad the bard’s heart was thrumming.

So caught up straining to hear past his own heartbeat he almost missed the deep grunt from the man above him. “Jaskier. I wouldn’t-“

Jaskier didn’t miss the way his voice broke, or how the Witcher took a sharp breath before continuing.

“I won’t let go.”

His tone was resolute and Jaskier was reminded of one of the many reasons he loved the man so much, his steadfast determination to do the right thing even if it screwed the man over tenfold. Which is why this was such a fucked-up situation, a true lose-lose for Geralt.

The new silence that stretched between them was shattered by rocks moving above them and Jaskier hoped that it was just normal rocks rolling around and not a precursor for an even worse situation.

Geralt tensed and looked up but didn’t say anything to Jaskier about more potential threats. Instead Jaskier was taken fully off guard by a human head poking over to look at them from the top, “you alright?”

Shock wrapped through Jaskier as Geralt yelled for rope and the bard felt that this whole rescue was that of a dream.

“I’m dead, you actually dropped me, and I am being escorted into the afterlife.”

A growl had him focusing back in time for a thick rope to be tossed next to him and he wasted no time in looping it around his left arm, trying not to notice the golden eyes watching his every move.

Once properly tangled he looked back to his wrist, still held in an iron grip and thought for a moment asking Geralt to let go. Deciding against it he instead looked back up to the mysterious savior, “ready!”

The head disappeared briefly, he heard scattered shouting before the rope jerked sharply and slowly, he was lifted higher. When he rose to Geralt’s level, his wrist was finally released, and the relief felt through it was immediate.

Looping his right arm around the rope Jaskier let sheer weight of what had happened, and what had almost happened, finally hit him. When he got to the ledge sets of hands were yanking him up and he laid on the mercifully solid ground, clutching his throbbing wrist to his chest and sucking in air.

A face entered his vision and he felt hands roaming over him before they started prodding at his arm, which he answered with a groan. Whatever they were saying to him was lost in a shrill ringing that had started, but Jaskier tried to focus on a face and express his gratitude.

He felt his mouth moving and hoped that he was saying something instead of just gaping at them like a fish. Jaskier felt someone new move next to him and white filled his vision as the world faded away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger is had, rescuers are revealed, and Jaskier is still an observant idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally crying at all the feedback I've gotten. My muse heard the masses and started screaming.

When Jaskier became more aware of his senses he could hear voices talking, someone jostled his wrist and he groaned at the pain. He tried to yank his tender wrist away from the jabbing fingers only for a firm hand to hold his arm in place. 

“Hold still.”

The world was muffled but Jaskier would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere, so he obeyed and instead hissed as the prodding resumed. He opened his eyes and silently thanked the gods that the sun was setting and he didn’t have to peer into bright light, his gaze locked onto Geralt and he gave the Witcher a weak smile. 

The moment he did Geralt’s face pulled harshly into a scowl, which confused Jaskier for a second until the rush of events came back to him. He looked at his rescuers and couldn’t keep the shock from entering his voice, “Toruviel? Chireadan? What are you doing here?” 

Jaskier could safely say that they were the last people he was expecting to be his rescuers, much less the pair of them together. 

“Your horse bit me.” 

Though Toruviel was answering Jaskier’s question, she said it accusingly to Geralt who was now standing and looking away from the bard. Chireadan looked at the Witcher and finished explaining, “we were passing through and your horse got our attention. After it was clear that she wasn’t in danger, I recognized her from our previous encounter and we followed her.” 

Jaskier looked at the mare in question, who seemed to be watching the whole interaction with a steady gaze and smiled at her. 

“Good Roach.” 

His admiration was cut short when Chireadan started moving his wrist and he let out a startled yelp. 

“It isn’t broken, but it is sprained as well as bruised. I can put a salve on it and bandage it but try not to jostle it.” 

Toruviel scoffed at that and spoke to the man in Elder, as far as Jaskier could make out she was scolding him for wasting precious supplies on a worthless bard. Granted Jaskier’s Elder was still rough around the edges but Geralt seemed to understand what she was saying well enough to level her with an impressive glare. 

He stalked over to Roach and retrieved a coin pouch, tossing it to her he growled something under his breath that the human couldn’t make out. Jaskier could see the woman’s face morph into anger and decided to intervene before it got messy, allowing the healer to help him stand. 

“Well thank you both for coming to the quite miraculous rescue, I fear what would have happened had you not come.” 

This appeased the woman, but Geralt spun towards him with rage boiling under the surface. 

“You weren’t afraid of falling before.” 

Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins but Jaskier wasn’t about to bare his throat over his actions and back down. 

“I didn’t know we were about to be saved!” 

Geralt gave a throaty, humorless laugh at that. 

“The one thing you’re better at then getting into stupid, dangerous situations. Is getting saved from them at the last moment, it’s how you’ve survived this long.” 

Jaskier sputtered at him, even with thoughts running wild he managed not to say shout that the only one who had ever bothered to save him before was the man who was dangling with him. Instead he stood straight and tried to look confident, “I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I will not apologize for trying to do what I thought was best in the circumstance.” 

Unsurprisingly this did not appease the White Wolf who was now much closer than a moment before. 

“You wanted to die.” 

It was an accusation coated in a growl, the man’s teeth were bared and at the moment he looked truly inhuman. Yet his eyes told a different story, there was anger yes, but also frustration and a hint of panic. 

Jaskier’s heart panged at those eyes and he adjusted his voice to be as gentle as it could, “I didn’t- I don’t want to die, Geralt. But in the moment, it looked like no matter what happened I was bound to fall anyways; might as well have at least one survive instead of two die.” 

He could tell that he had won, if there was even a winning side of the argument, and Geralt’s posture fell an almost imperceivable amount. 

“If I had done what you wanted, let go when you wanted and then been saved not an hour later-“ 

Jaskier couldn’t help but wince at that scenario, his death would shake the man but if he died only for help to arrive shortly after it would take longer for Geralt to bounce back. 

“I’m sorry and I promise to try to have faith that a miraculous rescue will appear if something like that ever happens again.” 

The glare he received made him sure that the bard would now be corralled away from any ledges or heights for the immediate future, that is if Geralt didn’t leave him in the town. 

A shot of fear ran through Jaskier that this could be what finally convinces Geralt to leave him behind for good. To not allow the man to trail behind him under the flimsy excuse of a new ballad, despite his angry grumblings Geralt had never forced him away. 

True Jaskier was a debatable travel companion, he complained and had to fill the silence else it bare down on him. Yet he had slowly gotten better at being more useful to the Witcher through little things and had become quite proficient at treating and bandaging wounds for the man. 

Geralt’s nostrils flared at some new scent and gold eyes bore down at him with a new, as of yet unseen emotion. Without so much as a grunt he stepped away from the bard and went to Roach, fishing out a treat for her service. 

Jaskier looked to where the two elves were standing, much farther away than he remembered either of them being before and felt for them having to watch that exchange. He had been witness to a great number of spats and still managed to feel awkward each time, he could only imagine what they were thinking or feeling. 

Chireadan glanced at Geralt before moving to the bard, clutching the salve and bandages tightly. The moment it was applied Jaskier’s aching wrist dulled to a throb and he smiled at the elf as he bound the appendage, “truly, thank you.” 

A solid thump had the pair looking to where Geralt was placing the trophy bag on Roach’s saddle, at some point he must have collected the head. 

A brief talk revealed the elves were heading in the opposite direction, though they remained tight lipped on where they were going, and Jaskier prepared himself for a painfully silent trip back to town. 

With the sun setting they would have to make camp and Geralt hadn’t looked at him since he walked away, as the group separated he shouldered his mercifully unharmed lute and mentally prepared himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter originally wasn't going to exist, I have another of the 'talk' and this was supposed to be like a 300 words transition. Turned out a bit longer though lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Once again, this was hard to write and it still feels wonky to me but idk :/ Also should it please the masses I will write chapters of these idiots sharing a braincell and talking.


End file.
